


Patron Prefect Prisoner

by Verabird



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Dialogue between Monsieur le Secretaire and Monsieur le Prefect that I can only describe as 'banter', Javert's sad devotion to his patron's penis, M/M, The Paris Prefecture Soap Opera
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-03 03:54:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6595582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verabird/pseuds/Verabird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Javert's devotion to his patron knows no boundaries, and in turn Chabouillet will command many things of his protégée. So the secretary involves him in a power play with the prefect and the prefect's own charge; a certain member of the National Guard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patron Prefect Prisoner

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Firestorm717](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firestorm717/gifts), [Esteliel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/gifts), [jehane18](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jehane18/gifts).



> Much thanks to Firestorm717/extremistonystark for their extensive research on the history of the Paris Prefecture. It has resulted in three blowjobs so far.
> 
> Also thanks to Esteliel and Jehane18/iberiandoctor for adding ideas to this absurd soap opera, and for being generally very inspirational human beings.

Yet another young officer had just passed by Javert, back of their hand nervously wiping against their mouth, cheeks flushed a noticeable pink and lips slightly wet. Javert watched the man pass, taking stock of the way his hair stuck up slightly at the back as if a hand had been through it, and then he mentally shook himself to not think of such things. He snorted, mostly to himself, then slammed his pen back into the ink-well, too hard, the nib broke and Javert watched as ink splattered in droplets all over his just finished report.

An onlooker might have described Javert in this moment as distracted. Every time the door to the secretary's office opened his eyes shot up, glancing quickly from side to side beneath a furrowed brow, like the rabbit in the snare when he hears the first sound of the dogs. Mostly it was clerks passing in and out, delivering files and packages, but occasionally one of the younger recruits would sidestep out of the gilt door, shuffling almost, and speed walk back to their post with a certain awkwardness and ruffled appearance.

Javert took in their youthful faces, gangly limbs that swung with reckless abandon, soft jaws, soft edges, wide bright eyes. Much younger than he himself. He brought a hand up to his cheek and brushed it against his whiskers, scratching thoughtfully over the dark brown with definite streaks of grey. He wasn't young like these men, he couldn't be sure what he had over them, talent perhaps? Javert wasn't jealous, he told himself this and seemed to believe it.

No, Monsieur Chabouillet could do what he wanted in the privacy of his own office, Javert would never dare to question it, and if his activities extended to transferring Javert's old duties to the newer recruits then it wasn't his place to argue. If Chabouillet wanted a stream of young men instead of an old man like Javert, well, that was his business. Still, Javert bristled at the thought, Chabouillet hadn't called him into the office in well over a week now and he was getting restless. Whole paranoia would soon take over from light nervousness. Javert didn't want to be replaced, not like some ancient limping dog that is cast out on the street, he was an older man now of course, but he still had fire in him. Surely his patron of all people could see that.

He realised he'd been leaning with a hand on his cheek for the past few minutes and moved it quickly lest he appear some wanton maiden. He raised the top of the wooden flip desk and reached around for a spare nib, located one amidst a pile of paper shavings, and set to screwing it back onto the quill. He'd recommend that the cost be taken from his wages, it was his own carelessness that destroyed the equipment which was essentially government property.

Javert couldn't help looking up every time the door swung on its hinges. Some time during the mid-afternoon the door opened to reveal a practically angelic figure, a new officer, blonde, blue-eyed, shoulders obviously muscular beneath his standard issue coat. Javert wouldn't have paid him much heed until he licked his lips, and not just an innocuous brief tongue peek, then the tell-tale back of a hand passed across his mouth. Javert sighed. With recruits like this, handsome and young, Chabouillet would have no use for him ever again.

Perhaps he should knock on the door right this instant, land on his knees before his patron and prostrate himself, begging to serve. Then again, that action might make him look even more pathetic. He settled with furrowing his brow, burrowing his chin in his coat and staring at the ruined parchment. He'd stay late to rewrite the mess, and maybe Chabouillet would remain late also and he could fill out reports until Chabouillet invited him to sit by the prefecture fire with a welcome glass of brandy and they'd discuss police procedure until Javert's patron asked him to serve.

"Monsieur Javert!"

Javert's head snapped up, his eyes still vaguely glazed, it had been a pleasant memory that he hadn't wanted to be removed from. He glared wearily at the young man, noticing up close that his skin was completely smooth of wrinkles where Javert's was not, that his blonde hair was shiny and soft where Javert's was wiry and grey, that his hands had not yet been tarred by years of rigorous police work whilst the pads of Javert's fingertips were firm and his palms rough. "What is it Monsieur Nay?"

"It is Monsieur Chabouillet, he is in need of your services at this present time. He says to go on through without knocking."

Javert let a gentle breath whistle through his teeth and drew himself up to his full height. He suppressed the urge to whisper a subtle prayer to the heavens for giving him this opportunity, instead turning to stare imperiously down at Monsieur Nay. He ignored the way the boy's throat scratched. The man had clearly not satisfied where Javert could, and this gave him a sense of pride. Monsieur Nay had no business being in Monsieur Chabouillet's office, the man belonged to the prefect himself, not his secretary, and was usually found over on Gisquet's part of the building. Javert belonged to the secretary, that was his privilege, and at last order was about to be restored to the world.

"Give my respects to Monsieur Gisquet," Javert said, a sentiment he did mean but was really just to fill a silence. "Have a good evening."

Monsieur Nay's mouth twitched slightly and Javert heard him muttering something about 'tell him yourself' as he paced the marble hallway towards the exit. Javert reflected on the base nature of all the new recruits, so disrespectful to their seniors, not a good man in the lot, no wonder Chabouillet had grown tired of the service of boys. Javert smiled to himself. He would rectify that soon enough.

It felt strange not to knock, but Chabouillet had been clear in his instructions and Javert would obey them. He pushed the door with a careful hand and regarded the secretary's office. It was a large room, the marble tiles extending across the floor in black and white squares with lines of gold running perpendicular between each wall. Javert had always admired the clawed feet of Chabouillet's desk - orders signed and passed on that desk must hold such great weight - and the surface was fitted with a wide pane of glass; A relatively new fashion among the highest ranking officials who spent their days flicking pens on paper.

The secretary himself was leaning casually against the mantelpiece, watching the hands of a carriage clock tick slowly by. Javert's presence in the room roused him from this action and he turned and smiled, spreading his arms in welcome. Javert bowed low, bending almost in half.

"Ah Monsieur," Chabouillet's voice was rich, a gentle wash of warmth overcame Javert at the sound. Immediately he felt relaxed. "We have been waiting for you."

"Monsieur le Secretaire, please forgive me for not moving faster."  
"Nonsense Javert, you are here now and that is all that matters."

The way Chabouillet said his name, with such affection and gravitas, it always made Javert feel special. Yet it seemed he wasn't the only one who experienced some effect at the sound of his name. As the word left Chabouillet's lips Javert heard a strange choking sound from the corner of the room, shielded by the still open door. Javert's eyes flicked right and his brow raised.

Javert had seen this act performed many times, but seeing it before him with the prefect himself as the recipient... Javert swallowed nervously, he hadn't expected an audience, let alone a stranger. He saw Gisquet in repose on a high-backed chair, thighs spread neatly, the taffeta of his trousers bunching around his calves, head tilted back in pleasure, eyes closed, mouth parted. Henri Gisquet commanded such power fully-clothed and at his full height, yet even here in a state of disarray Javert found his image alluringly worthy of respect.

His hand was wrapped in a soft bundle of snow white hair, the red and green and gold of jewelled rings shining spectacularly on the silver curls. The stranger's back was coated in blue and red, the mark of the national guard. Javert knew that Gisquet was responsible for organising the daily patrols of the guard, but he'd assumed Gisquet was only taking his rightful advantage of recruits from the police academy. Clearly he had been mistaken. This must be why Monsieur Nay had been inside Chabouillet's office, he hadn't been serving the secretary at all, but his own master.

Javert couldn't see much of this mystery man's face, but could see the signs of concentration and the unmistakable sounds of a soft wet mouth dutifully sucking. Gisquet didn't seem phased by Javert's entrance, he let out an unbridled moan and opened his eyes, lidded and dark, and turned them on Javert.

"Monsieur Javert, a pleasure to have you here, Monsieur Chabouillet tells me you are making excellent headway with the Les Halles robberies." Gisquet's voice sounded almost pained, his knees shifted wider and the hand which was lightly touching the hair beneath him now began to grip tighter. "Chabouillet!" He exclaimed suddenly. "The clock man, the clock!"

Chabouillet turned back to the mantelpiece and watched the hands of the carriage clock, tapping the seconds with a finger on marble. The minute hand clicked and then Javert heard Gisquet groan. He watched the ringed fingers tense and the man in the uniform below him lean forward slightly, swallowing in earnest. "Time!" Gisquet practically shouted. He shifted in his chair, allowing his prick to slide from the dutiful mouth before him, taking a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his fingers clean. Javert watched as the guard wiped his lips with the back of his hand, tensing at the sight, then turned back to Gisquet.

"We've located their old ringleader. We found him dead which is unsurprising, but he was found with several incriminating documents and we're hoping to prevent a future robbery." Javert's voice didn't shake and he stood firm, he'd join in this absurd moment if it pleased the prefect. "Of course we can't be certain, but we're doing all we—"

He stopped, speech stunted, tongue trapped between his teeth. His eyes went wide, practically bugging from their sockets, as he watched the national guard slide onto the back of his heels and turn to face him. Their eyes met and Javert was caught in a strange moment of wanting to bow on instinct, address the man with come smeared on his lips as 'Monsieur le Mayor' and deliver a report. He stayed still and silent before turning to Chabouillet and clearing his throat. He knew what he must do.

"This man—...this man Monsieur—"

"Yes, he's rather good isn't he," Chabouillet interrupted, scribbling something down on a piece of paper on the desk. "And you have to beat his time which is..." He read the writing. "Two minutes and thirty-four seconds. Which I'm sure you can manage, I know it's been more than a week and in that I have been neglecting you Javert, but we've managed in less haven't we? You and I."

Javert's jaw dropped. It took him a moment of stillness before he consciously had to shut his mouth again and he stared in disbelief, from his patron, to the prefect, to the man that had slipped his grasp for nearly a decade and now knelt submissive on the marble floor before him.

"No Monsieur, you do not understand." Javert shook his head, eyes turning back to Valjean and staring intently. Valjean seemed just as shocked, and he must have known of his presence ever since Chabouillet announced him into the room hence the choke. Any moment now Javert could denounce him and Valjean's last act of freedom would be one of filthy humiliation, yet Javert seemed caught. "Monsieur, I mean no disrespect, but this man he—"

"Make him get on with it," Gisquet drawled from his chair. Javert watched as he tapped Valjean on the shoulder and wordlessly handed over his handkerchief. "Your pet talks too much."

Chabouillet frowned, offended on Javert's behalf. "My protégée talks just the right amount, you are just impatient, Henri." He turned to face Javert, almost apologetic, and placated his palms. "Javert, if you wouldn't mind, on your knees."

Javert sunk to the floor, shaking slightly, and found his fists clenching of their own accord. He glanced across at Valjean, suddenly realising that the man would be allowed to watch the whole thing. Valjean showed no sign of looking away, in fact he looked almost fascinated, stunned into shocked silence as he was. Javert didn't want to give him any form of entertaining show, but he also didn't want to disappoint his patron.

Chabouillet patted him on the cheek and Javert nuzzled into the hand automatically. The secretary chuckled and stroked Javert's cheek with more earnest, stroking a gentle thumb before ruffling through his hair. "There we are," He said, undoing his trousers and drawing out his cock. Javert shifted his gaze from Valjean and turned towards his patron. This was comfortable territory, familiar, warm. He kissed the tip without prompting and Chabouillet let out a sound of delight.

"That should count as the start," Gisquet announced. "Time starts now."

"Not fair," Chabouillet replied, but he seemed amused. "Have you never heard of foreplay, Henri?"

"Why of course man, Monsieur Nay will give you many a detailed account of it, but speed is of the essence here. Play the game or don't play at all."

Chabouillet scoffed and placed his fingers under Javert's chin, tilting it up to face him. He clicked his tongue. "Javert doesn't mean to be a tease, do you Javert?"

Javert shook his head, then took the hint and leaned forward to take the whole of Chabouillet's length inside his mouth. He was used to this, knew the way to tilt his head back so that his patron's cock would rest easily on his tongue and not choke him. Chabouillet was manageable, and Javert swallowed deeply around him, drawing back and then sliding down again. Chabouillet moaned from above and ran a hand through Javert's hair, gripping gently. Javert moved into the touch then began thrusting in earnest, swallowing and sucking, running his tongue firmly underneath the man's cock, reaching a hand up to grip his thigh.

This was safe, this was decency, this was honest work, servitude so simple and pure, Javert delighted in it. And then the face of a convict, hair matted across his weathered face, clothes torn, expression a harsh sneer, scars tearing his skin in pieces, the vision came to the forefront of Javert's mind. The image made him cough and choke, he lost his rhythm. Chabouillet pulled out and stared down at him.

"What's the matter Javert?"

Javert shook his head, disappointment in himself. He gazed back at Chabouillet's cock, hanging heavy, wet and flushed, between the man's thighs. Javert swallowed and took it once more in his mouth. How much time had it been already? He could afford to disappoint himself, but his patron? Unthinkable.

He thrust harder this time, ignoring the painful itch that scratched at the back of his throat, taking his patron in deeper. Kind eyes, wrinkles at the corner when he smiled, a gentle smile, neatly tied cravat in the old style, careful words, odd judgements, a mayor with a heart of gold and fanciful thoughts, a mayor who had been kind and forgiving, too kind—

"For heaven's sakes Javert! What has got into you? Surely you have not forgotten everything I taught you?"

Javert held back a sob. Chabouillet didn't sound angry, it was disappointment laced with concern and somehow that made it worse. Chabouillet's hand ran down to his neck and held firm and steady as Javert continued to suck desperately. In the distance he could hear Gisquet's chuckles. Well, at least he'd make one superior happy.

"The man is distracted," Gisquet said. "Evidently you are not a good teacher."

"He is excellent when he is focused," Chabouillet said. Javert wanted to tell his patron that he didn't need to defend him, he deserved the ridicule and admonishment. "Usually he drops to his knees in seconds."

There was a strange high-pitched sound somewhere to Javert's left, a squeak almost, and it didn't belong to Gisquet. Valjean had no right to be enjoying this. Javert would arrest the man's mind if he could, prevent it from running away with the image of his own lips wrapped around a man's cock, stop it from thinking of him falling to his knees at the briefest whim.

Javert held tighter to Chabouillet's thigh and with the other hand brought his hand up to cup the man's balls. He held them for a moment, palm warm, then began to gently knead. Chabouillet let out a satisfied hiss. "You see?"

Gisquet snorted. "Now all I see is that Monsieur Javert is a tease."

Chabouillet let out an indignant sound, but Javert squeezed suddenly and the sound was replaced with a pleasured moan. Javert was back in his element. Chabouillet was pliable in the right hands, it was a joy to touch him where it pleased him most, and Javert would do his best.

Javert moved faster now, burning with a certain vigour, the edges of his vision blurred, he moved his dexterous fingers, Chabouillet's climax was within his grasp. Chabouillet came hot down Javert's throat, and Javert dutiful protégée that he was swallowed every last drop. He held Chabouillet in his mouth until his patron deigned it right to release him. Chabouillet reached into his pocket and withdrew a handkerchief, holding Javert's chin steady he wiped his mouth clean.

"Were you even watching the clock Henri?"

"Oh are you finished?" Gisquet sounded amused. "I couldn't tell."

Chabouillet's hand fell on Javert's shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Again Javert felt obliged to remind his patron that he deserved this humiliation from the prefect, he'd delivered a substandard performance, hadn't served correctly. Chabouillet's defensiveness was misplaced.

"Four minutes forty-one."

"I don't believe you."

Gisquet raised a challenging eyebrow, but Chabouillet didn't back down. They squared off at each other until a third voice spoke.

"He speaks the truth." Quiet, hoarse, scratchy. "It was four minutes and forty-one seconds."

All eyes turned towards the man still kneeling on the floor, national guard's uniform draping ill-fittingly off his old shoulders. Chabouillet laughed. "Well, of course your whore agrees with you."

"Monsieur," This time it was Javert's turn to speak. "I did not do well today, it would be best for you to punish me."  
Valjean's eyes darted sideways, a memory stirred perhaps, but Javert paid him no heed.

"Javert you silly man." Chabouillet ran a hand through his hair and passed it over his brow. "Don't you understand? If you lose then I lose as well, and Henri will take the gloating rights for weeks! I promised him you were beautiful in this duty, and usually you are just that Javert; beautiful." He raised a hand to wave away Javert's protests. "What went wrong?"

"I was...distracted."

"Clearly."

Gisquet had been watching the exchange with a certain amusement, but Chabouillet's words seemed so intense that he frowned in consideration.

"Chabouillet, I am disappointed in this display. I think I need another to truly judge."

All eyes turned to the prefect, he was smiling, a disturbing glint reflecting off his pupils. Chabouillet raised his eyebrows and gestured vaguely downwards as he fastened his trousers. "Not now, Henri. I couldn't possibly so soon, and nor could you."

Gisquet dismissed him with a hand. "You are right, of course not, but there is one in this room who has not been satisfied."

Javert's lungs stopped working, they remained still, broken things that would not draw in essential oxygen. He blanched, his cheeks turned pale, his fingers grew numb.

"Monsieur, I—"

"Quiet, Javert," Chabouillet said calmly. "Henri, are you sure? It seems too cruel."

Gisquet smiled good-naturedly. "Surely you wish to see it?"

Javert willed for his patron to say no, to deny the request, but knew that it would be a just penance. He was not surprised when he saw Chabouillet nodding, but still his heart sank.

"Very well. Javert, knees."

Javert dropped like a dead weight, hitting the marble floor with force. He was usually grateful for the lack of rug or other soft landing, the pain in his knees kept him focused.

"And you." Chabouillet addressed Valjean. "No encouragement. He needs to do it all by himself, understand?"

In his periphery, Javert saw Valjean nodding. He swallowed to clear the bile in his throat and watched as Valjean's nervous fingers fumbled with the buttons on his trousers. Valjean looked down at him, clearly wanting to meet his gaze, to give him some wordless message, but Javert stared resolutely forward and ignored him.

Chabouillet had commanded him to do it, and it had been Gisquet's decree, and so Javert would follow his orders. His eyes came level with the cock that Valjean had just withdrawn from his trousers. It was large, Javert noticed, and also hard which it had no right to be. Even Chabouillet sometimes needed a little coaxing, which meant that Valjean had already been aroused, which meant that the scene he'd just witnessed had excited him. Javert flushed.

He took a deep breath, hesitated, then tentatively slipped Valjean's length into his mouth. Valjean moaned lightly from the back of his throat and Javert found himself matching it before he caught himself. Inwardly he admonished himself and made a promise to stay silent. Valjean's hand came to rest on the top of his head and Javert pulled back to shake him off. This time he threw a glare up at Valjean who had the decency to look sheepish and drop his hands to his sides.

Javert closed his eyes and thought of Chabouillet. This was for him, his patron, and he'd manage. Valjean was larger, thicker, hotter, but if he concentrated very hard he could substitute the two. Fingers ran through his hair and curled against the back of his neck, Javert opened his eyes to glare again, but Valjean's hands were still by his sides. Gisquet was still watching with interest from his chair. He felt comforted with Chabouillet's hand pressing against his neck, guiding him, ordering him. He could follow this physical command. He moved his tongue in light circles before swallowing around the cock in his mouth. Images of the Valjean he'd known throughout the years flashed through his mind and he winced, trying desperately to replace them with Chabouillet.

Valjean came without a warning. The man had remained mostly silent since the first moan, oddly stoical, so the sudden stream of warmth that shot straight into the back of his throat startled Javert. He opened his eyes wide in shock and tried to pull back, but Chabouillet's hand pressed against him keeping him in place. Forced to swallowed everything, Javert felt his eyes water and his pride dissolve. Gisquet rose from his chair and clapped Valjean on the shoulder.

"A better display," He said, regarding Javert at his feet. "Still not impressive."

Gisquet pulled Valjean away towards the fire and Chabouillet quickly stepped in to replace the lost presence. His patron knelt down before him and once again proffered the handkerchief, swiping it delicately over Javert's lips and chin. Chabouillet leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on Javert's forehead. "You've made me so proud in the past, do not think of this as a set back."

Javert didn't know which words he should utter that could repay such kindness. "Thank you," He managed to half-speak half-whimper. "Thank you Monsieur le Secretaire."

"Well then Henri," Chabouillet said as he stood. "You've had your fun. Will you give the man a pardon or not?"

Javert's chin raised suddenly, snapping up like a marionette whose string has just been yanked. "Monsieur? Did you say...? Did I hear...?"

"Yes Javert." Chabouillet patted Javert's cheek. "I'm afraid the prefect can be a cruel man."

Javert's mouth opened and closed, a fish flopping on the deck of the ship, eyes flitting between Chabouillet, Gisquet, and Valjean.

"I don't understand."

"I have a sense of humour, Javert," Gisquet pronounced into the silent room. His hand was still on Valjean's shoulder as he stood behind the desk searching through papers. "This man came to me with an extraordinary tale and I indulged him by listening. I offered him a pardon in return for this little game. It is well-deserved don't you think?"

Javert coughed as he tried to regain control of his breath. "You knew?"

"Of course. Ah, here we are." Gisquet pulled out a piece of paper and began scribbling upon it. "It has to pass through several channels first, but my signature rises to the top of most paper stacks. You'll be a completely free man within the week."

"And you?" Javert turned to his patron, growing increasingly aware that all the other men in the room were standing over his kneeling form. "You know who he is?"

"I'm so sorry Javert," Chabouillet said. "You sent your original denouncement of the man to me personally. Remember?"

Javert remembered. He also remembered the scathing reply he'd received back. He felt injured in this situation, it had all been at his expense, even Valjean had obtained satisfaction from it.

"I too am sorry, Javert, but what could I do?"

Javert looked up at Valjean in disgust. The man had the indecency to act apologetic, to make a farce of his suffering, to take his undeserved pardon and laugh in his face. He could still feel Valjean against his lips, burning heat inside him, filling him up too much. He rose on shaking legs and Chabouillet moved to steady him.

"Monsieur le Secretaire, I have done my duty. If there is nothing more you require of me then I request your permission to leave."

Chabouillet nodded quickly and opened the door for Javert watching him go, a rueful expression gracing his face. Javert walked quickly back to his desk, ignoring the accusing glances and judgemental smirks. He caught Monsieur Nay's eye who had the audacity to be staring at him. Javert made the tell-tale swipe of his lips with the back of his hand.


End file.
